


If You Ever Need Someone, I Will Be There

by bella_my_clarke



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Basically married, Bellarke, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Halloween, Kid Fic, Modern AU, SO MUCH FLUFF, Unplanned Pregnancy, adoptive father, and finaly clarke calling herself out, bellamy 'the best dad ever' blake, clarke 'concerned mom who does her best' griffin, domestic bellarke, raven calling out clarke repeatedly, then clarke's CHILD calling her out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 07:17:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9808874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bella_my_clarke/pseuds/bella_my_clarke
Summary: It was weird, probably, that Clarke met her best friend because of her daughter. Although, to be fair, most of Clarke’s friendships came out of strange situations—she met Maya when she nearly attacked her over a misunderstanding; Murphy at the courthouse, where she was paying a ticket and he was on trial for robbery; and Raven when they realized they were both in a relationship with the same guy.Which was sort of, in a roundabout way, how the first one got started.Or: bellarke + halloween + wait, you're /not/ married?





	

**Author's Note:**

> i know halloween was three and a half months ago okay leave me be
> 
> (i may or may not have found this in my drafts piles of documents and went...ah. yes. the thing from halloween, that i never edited. hm.)
> 
> (also i thought this was like 1k until i put it up here, nvm lol rip me)

It was weird, probably, that Clarke met her best friend because of her daughter. Although, to be fair, most of Clarke’s friendships came out of strange situations—she met Maya when she nearly attacked her over a misunderstanding; Murphy at the courthouse, where she was paying a ticket and he was on trial for robbery; and Raven when they realized they were both in a relationship with the same guy.

Which was sort of, in a roundabout way, how the first one got started.

When Clarke realized Finn was cheating on her, it was almost shockingly easy cut him out of her life—take back the key, change her Facebook status, and spend a few weeks bonding with the other girl to ease the nagging heartache she didn’t want to feel until it withered into nothing. At least, until she missed her period and got a test, just to be sure, and then Clarke spent hours curled in the bathroom crying, staring at those two stupid lines on the screen because _she wasn’t ready for this._

But, thankfully, she had nine months of cravings and cramps and general irritation ( _so just the normal you,_ Jasper noted, which got him kicked in the leg) to prepare, and a horde of overprotective friends and family members to get her through it, and when the baby came she was, if not primed for motherhood, excited to hold a little girl in her arms who was _hers._ She was determined to do it well, to prove she didn’t need Finn or any other parental figure to raise this child. And she didn’t, not really—not besides occasional babysitting from Lincoln when her professors wouldn’t allow children, or frantic 2am calls to her mother or Monty (who was weirdly knowledgeable about motherhood, considering). In terms of surviving and caring for little Callie, Clarke was perfectly fine on her own.

The problem was in the finer details.

–

“What do you _mean,_ you’re not carving pumpkins?”

Clarke sighed heavily and adjusted Callie on her hip, prying her hair out of the one-year-old’s grabby fingers. “There’s not much of a point, right? Callie can’t make one.”

“So make one for her,” Raven demanded. “You can’t just skip out on the fun of holidays because you’ve got a baby to take care of.”

“I’m not,” Clarke hedged.

“Not what? Skipping out?”

“Not because of Callie.”

“Then why?” But, being Raven, she didn’t give Clarke a chance to reply. “You can’t be serious. Are you telling me you’re going to let your child’s first official Halloween get ruined because you're _single?_ Because listen, there’s no rule against single moms enjoying life because they don’t have a partner, and just because that jerk Finn cheated and then ran off to let you deal on your own—”

“ _Raven,_ ” Clarke hissed, cutting her off; Callie blinked and dropped her head onto Clarke’s shoulder. “I’m not doing it because of Finn. It’s just—” She swallowed hard and ran a hand across her daughter’s stringy hair. “I know what it’s like to live with a single mom, okay? I know how it feels to have two parents and then be ripped away from one of them. And I don’t want that for Callie.”

Something softened in Raven’s gaze and she reached out to brush Clarke’s arm with her fingers. “Hey,” she murmured, using more gentleness than she usually ever displayed. “She’ll be fine. _More_ than fine, with a mom like you.” Then she cleared her throat and stepped back with straighter shoulders. “And anyway, if you don’t carve a pumpkin and waste your artistic talent, I’ll knock you over the head with a wrench.”

Clarke grinned. “Good to see you’re back."

“I _will_ get my toolbox, Griffin.”

“Race you there.”

(Raven won, mostly because she played dirty. Thankfully, however, carrying children was an excellent protection against death threats.)

–

Clarke liked her job. She loved it, in fact; working with young kids and teaching them how to draw little pictures, even as a student teacher, was much more enjoyable than the freelancing she once imagined herself doing. The issue was managing where to take her child while she taught other people’s children.

Usually Callie stayed with Lincoln, who could work from home, or Monty if he was available, but both were unavailable today and Clarke had no idea what to do with the kid (she was too paranoid for babysitters or daycare). Add that to the fact she was late for work – read: unable to warn her boss about the child she was taking with her – got makeup all over her brand-new shirt, and forgot to feed a crying Callie, and it equaled out to a very frustrated Clarke.

“Good morning, Clarke, how are—oh.” The principal, Anya, stared blankly at Callie, who had buried her face wetly into the collar of Clarke’s blouse.

“I’m so sorry, I couldn’t find anyone to take her. What do I do?”

Anya sighed heavily and adjusted her glasses (she didn’t need them, but seemed to think they made her look more qualified or something). “You called everyone you know to see if they’re available?”

“Yes, everyone, including my mom, although she wouldn’t be helpful four hours away, and they’re all busy. I swear I would take her to someone, but I don’t make much money and I don’t want to use it on some daycare lady who won’t even treat her right – well, I guess you’d know, since you pay me and everything – and I can’t leave her alone, so—”

“Miss Griffin. Breathe,” Anya said tiredly. “If it was this much of a stressor to get your child to a safe place, you could’ve just called in sick or other and saved me all the trouble. I’ll just have to….”

“Excuse me, Ms. Anya. What seems to be the problem?”

Clarke turned to see who the newcomer was and found the freckled face of Bellamy Blake, a social studies teacher who’d just switched from a nearby middle school to work at Arkadia Elementary. She hadn’t gotten to know him yet besides the obligatory greeting (which ended in a half-banter, half-argument) and the forcibly cut-off gazes because, okay, fine. The guy was _hot._ Sue her.

“Oh. Um, hi, Mr. Blake,” Clarke said awkwardly. “We were just working out what to do with my daughter Callie. I can’t find a place to take her.”

“I was thinking of just sending the two home for the day and save all of us the stress. I can easily pull up a sub for the children and let you figure out a more consistent schedule,” Anya said curtly. Clarke just stared at her blankly; she had yet to find the line between concerned and condescending with this woman.

“What, and let the children miss out on Miss Griffin’s incredible teaching?” Bellamy asked, smirking at Clarke. ( _That_ was a line she could recognize easily. Bellamy seemed to live exclusively in the land of snarky or sarcastic.) “Surely we can figure something out.”

“School policy generally restricts letting teachers’ children in the classroom with them….” Anya reminded him.

“Yeah, well, bull to policy. She can manage her class fine with or without a child, and if it becomes a problem with drawing or something one of the other teachers can just hold onto the kid for a little bit.” He pointedly turned to Clarke. “Does that sound good to you?”

Clarke swallowed and glanced momentarily to Anya, who seemed already disinterested in the situation. “Um—okay. As long as you know how to handle her, if I have to pass her off to you.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes dramatically. “I practically raised my little sister. I can take care of—what was her name again?”

“Callie. Short for Calypso.”

Clarke could swear a lightbulb went off behind Bellamy’s eyes. “Like the Greek myth?”

“If it’s the same as the one in Percy Jackson, yes. It’s sort of where I came up with it; that and it’s just pretty.”

“More or less, though she was highly romanticized in Percy Jackson,” Bellamy said, getting an excited lilt to his voice. _What a nerd._ “Not that I minded; she was way more complex in the books and served an interesting side plot. And in Heroes of Olympus I loved when—”

“Ahem.”

They both turned to see Anya staring at them expectantly, and Clarke shifted uncomfortably. She’d forgotten the principal was even there. “I believe you have classes to attend.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bellamy said obediently, then inclined his eyes to Clarke mischievously. “It’s time, your majesty.”

Clarke arched an eyebrow. “Are you talking to me or the baby whose pastimes include pooping and chewing on her own fingers?”

“Calypso was the daughter of a Titan, you know. That’s royalty in my book.”

“So that makes me what, a queen?”

“Nah,” Bellamy said, still with that infuriatingly endearing grin, and took one of Callie’s thin arms in his hand. Callie, who only ever wanted her mom and wailed for hours before liking anyone, stared at him carefully and then gurgled happily. “I’m thinking you’re more of a princess, Clarke.”

He turned and walked away without another word, and all Clarke could think – well, besides how unbelievably dramatic he was – was that he had used her first name.

–

Two days before Halloween, Raven left a little gift at Clarke’s door.

“I would’ve left knives as well,” Clarke read, “but I assumed that would be dangerous and I know you have some anyway. I’m checking in tomorrow and if it’s not done, I’m taping your hand to mine and doing it for you. XOXO.” Clarke looked skeptically at Callie, who was busy giggling at the hollow noises the pumpkin made when she hit it. “Does she really think delivering me a pumpkin will convince me to carve it?”

In response, Callie clapped her hands together and sneezed.

Clarke brought it up with the squad during her free time before lunch, but they all had the same advice—do whatever makes you comfortable, either way will be fine, just make sure Raven’s not near a hammer if you don’t. So, naturally, she brought it up with Bellamy.

The two of them had bonded a little in the week since he had defended her in front of Anya, naturally drifting together in the teacher’s lounge when they had spare moments and getting into quips about the best music of the 90s or how to properly make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Clarke had learned Bellamy hadn’t practically raised his little sister, Octavia, he’d _really_ raised her; that he was a giant history nerd but hated teaching middle school and up because they’d only let him teach ‘white boy’ history; that he was supposed to wear glasses but had given up after his puppy had eaten through two pairs of them (Clarke tried really, _really_ hard not to imagine him pushing glasses up the bridge of his nose, especially with all those freckles).

In return, Bellamy had learned about Clarke’s never-ending argument with her mom about how she should’ve gone into the medical field, and her weird obsession with middle grade novels she’d read as a kid, and her side job of commissioning art—and, accidentally, her dilemma with Halloween.

“She just dropped it off at your door?” he asked, half amused and half flabbergasted.

“Yep, vaguely threatening note and all. She seems to think I’ll prove my independence as a single mom by stabbing orange gourds.”

Bellamy paused, looking genuinely thoughtful. “Well, it could, couldn’t it? Prove you’re fine just as you are, a family of two.”

“That’s what everyone keeps telling me. But I just can’t shake the feeling Callie needs somebody _there,_ you know? A dad, or another mom. Someone who’s not just me.”

“So you want to get hitched by tomorrow is what I’m hearing.”

“No, you idiot,” she said, shoving his shoulder playfully. “I just wish I had a fill-in-father, somehow. Like you were for Octavia.”

“Oh.” He caught her gaze, and Clarke became aware that they were oddly close for a public area. She swallowed.

“Well, I—” She was cut off by the bell, and instantly the spell broke. Clarke backed off a step, clearing her throat nonchalantly, and said, “Thanks for the advice, Bellamy. See you later?”

“Later. Yeah,” Bellamy agreed.

She wondered why he seemed so certain.

–

That night, Clarke spent a good twenty minutes staring at the pumpkin, weighing her options. It wouldn’t hurt to carve it, technically; it wasn’t likely to explode, and Clarke knew how to handle knives without hurting herself (unless it was cooking). But she still felt that incessant nagging, like something was missing.

Then the doorbell rang.

Clarke looked quizzically at Callie, who was in her booster seat and not paying attention at all, and went to the door. She swung it open, expecting to see Raven ‘checking in,’ but was instead saw—

“ _Bellamy?_ ”

He blinked and adjusted the glasses – _glasses_ – on his nose. “Clarke.”

“Um, how—what are you doing here?”

“Oh! Oh, yeah. Sorry. Octavia told me where you live.”

“No, no, I meant why you were on my doorstep at seven o’clock on a school night.” _And how Octavia knew where I live, and why you asked her, and how I’m supposed to handle your hair being mussed up like that._

In response, he held up the bag in his hands. “I thought I’d be of assistance.”

“With what?” Clarke asked, but the question was answered as soon as she looked in the bag. It was full of pumpkin carving tools—knives, hole-punchers, scoops, design books. Beneath all of it was a small, newly-bought pumpkin with the sticker still on it. “…Ah.”

“I felt bad Calypso was going to start out her Halloween days without getting to celebrate all the traditions,” he explained, a little nervously, “so I asked Octavia about it, and she asked her boyfriend Lincoln….”

“ _Lincoln?_ Octavia’s dating _Lincoln?_ ”

“The connection was a surprise to me, too,” Bellamy agreed, with a little edge to his voice. He was way too overprotective sometimes. “But anyway, Lincoln approved the idea, and he passed your address on to me,” (Clarke made a mental note here to whack Lincoln over the head with her pumpkin the next time she saw him, and then maybe hug him), “and now here I am. Ready to serve.”

“Um—” How was she supposed to respond to that? “Come inside, then.”

She opened the door and led Bellamy inside, feeling superconscious of everything—the messy entryway, her paint-splattered clothes and messy bun, the remnants of Callie’s dinner splattered across the table. “I like it,” he said wonderingly. “Sort of huge for a school teacher, but nice.”

Clarke flushed red. “Mom’s a surgeon and Dad left most everything to me. Seemed to realize I would go the low-pay route instead of following my mother’s footsteps.”

He gave her that look, the one she couldn’t place on the line between contempt and amusement. “A true princess.”

She swallowed and stepped past him to the table. “Which pumpkin do you want to carve?”

He glanced over Raven’s gift thoughtfully before saying, “Calypso’s the one we’re doing this for, so I think she needs one dedicated to her. And the other one we share?”

Clarke decided to ignore the _we_ 's and picked Callie out of her chair. “All right, Callie, you want to carve some pumpkins with Mr. Blake here? Do you remember him?”

Callie reached a hand out to Bellamy and gurgled happily. “Bemy.”

Bellamy smiled in a distinctly paternal way – Clarke was _absolutely_ not into it – and held Callie’s hand between two of his fingers. “Good to see you again, milady,” he said gently. “What picture do you want?”

“Bufly,” Callie said insistently, squeezing his finger. She turned her face to Clarke. “Bufly, Mommy. I want bufly.”

“All right, butterfly it is,” Clarke said, smiling widely. “I can do that one. Bellamy, you can pick whatever for our pumpkin.” _Our._ “As long as you don’t ruin it. This will be on display, remember.”

Bellamy smiled; Clarke felt a churning in her gut. “As you wish.”

Turned out Bellamy was just as good as Clarke at the physical carving – practice, he said, lots of practice – and by the time they were finished, up to the elbows in pumpkin guts and smelling about as good, there was a butterfly and a crown side-by-side on the table. “I can’t believe I let you pick,” Clarke groaned when she saw his design idea.

He shrugged. “Your fault for giving the guest free reign.”

“Ah, but joke’s on you, because this one’s going into the closet, never to be seen by any decent human soul,” Clarke told him.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would, _Bemy._ ”

–

Clarke thought that would be the end of it, but on Halloween Bellamy accidentally revealed he had nothing to do that night, and she nobly suggested he could go trick-or-treating with her and Callie. He came to her house that night, just as before, except now they were both in Star Wars costumes (him as Han Solo, her as Rey) to match with Callie’s Leia outfit. “We’ll take turns taking her to the door, so we don’t crowd up the porch,” Clarke reminded him as she locked her apartment door behind him. “And if she gets too tired we come back immediately. This is for her to have fun, no matter how much candy we get to mooch off her.”

“I get candy?” Bellamy asked.

Clarke feigned innocence. “I mean, if I eat all this candy on my own, I’ll have no teeth by the end, and who’ll critique you on your classroom decorations then?”

“On second thought, I don’t want any,” he decided, and she shoved him.

They were only out an hour when Callie started to crash. Bellamy volunteered to carry her so Clarke could get into the house and when he tried to lay Callie into her bed she clutched onto his neck and it was so _pure_ that Clarke nearly kissed him right there.

She didn’t, but after they stuffed their faces with candy and watched movies sitting just a little too close together until Bellamy had to leave, she wrapped her arms around his neck tightly and reveled in the warm, comforting way he held her back.

“Thank you, Bellamy,” she murmured by his ear, unwilling to be the first to pull away.

“I didn’t do anything,” he replied, but he was smiling.

It was a long time before either of them let go.

–

Raven was, unsurprisingly, the first one to call Clarke out on the whole situation.

Granted, she didn’t bug Clarke when she asked Bellamy over because ‘Callie was too much to handle,’ or when he made her dinner because she’d been watching a sick Callie all day and didn’t want to order takeout, or even when she stopped using the excuse of Callie altogether and just asked him over, constantly. She only interfered when, months and months after the two pumpkins in the front window had withered away, Clarke gave Bellamy a house key.

“You do realize there are married couples who don’t take that step,” Raven chided her when Clarke tried to justify the decision with _what if something happened to Callie_ and _he always has to cook for me anyway so he might as well let himself in._ “You’re practically living together.”

“It’s a _key,_ Raven, not a diamond ring. It’s just…more effective, all right? We’re not getting married; we haven’t even kissed yet.”

Raven’s whole face lit up at that, and Clarke inwardly cursed, realizing her error.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” she amended hurriedly, “we’re not romantic and we’re not going to be, he’s just—”

“You said _yet!_ ” Raven cawed gleefully. “How many times have you thought about it, Clarke? I need details.”

“I don’t think about kissing Bellamy.”

Raven scoffed. “You’re the worst liar I know, Griffin. Spill it. Why haven’t you two smashed your faces together yet?”

Clarke thought about lying for a moment, but she’d been dying to talk about this for _months,_ and Raven was one of her only friends she could trust to keep a secret. “And someone mistook him for Callie’s _father_ the other day, and he’s so _domestic,_ and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it because he just wants to marathon CW shows and I want to flipping _marry_ him, Raven.”

Raven was silent for a long time and Clarke thought maybe she’d get a good response, but what came out was, “Wow. Okay. I was not expecting that level of honesty. Maybe Bellamy’s secretly drugging you with all those cookies.”

“ _Raven._ ”

“All right, all right. Well, if you ask me, you need to poke your head out of the sand and actually _look_ at that boy for a moment, because I’m not getting much of a ‘movie buddies’ vibe from him.”

“That’s literally all we do together.”

“Oh yes,” Raven said, rolling her eyes, “besides eating dinner like a family every night, sometimes with Octavia, which is the closest thing to meeting his parents, and going out on ‘hangouts’ to restaurants you want to try, and planning each other’s lessons, all the while with your heart eyes in blinding mode.”

“Bellamy does not have heart eyes for me,” Clarke grumbled even as her heart did that awkward happy flop.

“Hon, he _only_ has heart eyes for you. Even when you argue it’s like half of him is too busy staring into your soul to be upset.”

Clarke thought about the way Bellamy had looked at her when he’d said goodbye the night before; how his whole face had gone soft and his eyes had gotten that thing she loved, like a barely-contained spark about to burst into flames. She thought about how hard it had been to do nothing more than squeeze his hand and peck his cheek as he went out the door.

“I may be seeing your point,” she conceded, “but it doesn’t mean I can just walk up to him and say, ‘Hey, Bellamy, I know I’ve kept things strictly platonic between the two of us since we met, now I would really like to make out with you. Thanks.’”

“Well, you _could,_ and it would probably end in lots of face-smashing, but since you want a traditional way of going about this, you’re going to have to just find the right time to explain yourself.”

“What time is that?”

Raven shrugged. “How would I know? I don’t dabble in your weird rom-com ways. I just tell people when they’re hot.”

Clarke rolled her eyes before feeling her phone buzz in her pocket; when she opened it, Bellamy’s scrunchy smile dominated the screen. “Thanks, Raven. Very helpful.”

“I know,” Raven grinned, then left Clarke to her work.

–

After that conversation, Clarke sort of expected herself to spill everything to Bellamy over the phone, or at least the next time she saw him, but of course it didn’t happen like that. Every time she started up the courage, she got distracted by the weight of his arm around her shoulder or his laugh when he played with Callie or the pressure of his gaze on hers. Or, sometimes, she just panicked and changed the subject because _what if?_ After all, this wasn’t some random person she’d gotten fond of. This was _Bellamy._ This was her best friend. If she was wrong....

So, she stalled, even when everyone (except Bellamy, hopefully) figured it out and nagged her incessantly; and maybe she could’ve held off on it forever, too, if not for Callie.

Bellamy was over, like he always was, and since it was Friday Clarke had hours of being with him to look forward to after Callie fell asleep. He was making another attempt to teach her how to cook, which was as useless as the day he started, but he was so concerned about her ability to feed herself when he was away that she humored him.

“I vote we each make a single serving for the other person and judge who did it better,” Clarke said as they gathered materials.

“A competition? From you? I’m shocked,” Bellamy said monotonously.

“Fine, if you think you can’t win,” she goaded, purposefully leaning into his side.

“Fine, if you think you _can_ win without me coming to rescue you,” he replied.

He was right, of course; even though it was a pasta dish, and a simple one at that, Clarke found herself constantly wanting to ask Bellamy questions, and by the time they both served each other their dishes, Bellamy’s looked like the winner on Chopped and Clarke’s looked like it had _been_ chopped. With a chainsaw. Covered in blood.

“How much paprika did you _put_ in this, Griffin?” Bellamy asked when she set in in front of him, eyes almost comically wide.

“I may have had some issues with the lid and pouring,” she admitted, sitting gracefully in front of her own plate.

“If I eat this, I may actually die.”

She shrugged and stabbed a forkful of food. “More room in the staff fridge for me. Anyway, you agreed to the deal.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t realize it was Chopped Hunger Games,” Bellamy grumbled, but he ate it anyway – actually _ate_ it, that disgusting bowl of limp noodles covered in red powder and bitter sauce – and all she could think about was how much she loved him, even when he threatened to replicate her dish exactly the next day.

Once they finished eating and cleaned up – meaning Clarke did dishes while Bellamy washed out his mouth with soap in the bathroom – they went to put Callie to bed. She was getting much better at falling asleep lately, as long as someone told her a story, and (like everything) it had turned into a competition. Each night they _both_ told a story, and Callie picked her favorite as she nodded off. They kept a tally on the fridge.

Bellamy was currently six ahead of Clarke, which she wasn’t entirely surprised at because the boy could _speak._ Where Clarke stumbled over her words, searching for the perfect phrase and trying to fit the whole story in her head at once, Bellamy’s stories rolled over his tongue like he’d heard them his whole life. He gave different voices for each character and sent them on wild adventures (with Calypso ever the brave hero) and made dramatic gestures with his hands when it got especially exciting. If Clarke was being honest, she was as riveted as her daughter.

But war was war, so of course she couldn’t be honest.

“All right, Callie, which one’s your favorite? Mine or Bellamy’s?” Clarke asked as Bellamy finished up and smirked at her, already knowing he would win.

She yawned hugely and rolled onto her side. “Daddy’s.”

Clarke froze. 

“What was that, sweetie?” she asked, inwardly begging, _Please say Bellamy, please say Bellamy._

“I liked Daddy’s better,” Callie repeated as her eyes drifted shut, casual as could be. “He had dragons. I like dragons. Did the first Calypso have dragons, Daddy?”

Clarke risked a glance at Bellamy’s face; it was taut and wide-eyed, but he managed to crack a sweet smile. “No, but she should’ve, right? Everything’s better with dragons.”

“Right,” Callie agreed, and promptly fell asleep.

There was a solid five seconds of silence as Clarke and Bellamy stared pointedly at Callie instead of each other, then Clarke steeled herself and spoke. “Um—it’s not late, yet. We could watch a movie. If you want.”

“Yeah—movie. Okay.” Bellamy seemed as in shock as she was. That was a comfort, at least.

So they watched a movie, barely speaking, with a few inches extra of space than usual and probably not even paying attention to the screen either. Clarke was too busy running every possible scenario in her head of what to do, and very few of them seemed to have positive outcomes. If she pretended to not know what had just happened, it would hang over them until she talked about it. But if she _talked_ about it—geez, what could she even say? He’d either get scared away or they’d be living with the fact that Callie thought of Bellamy as her dad for the rest of their lives.

Well, okay, maybe it wouldn’t be quite so dramatic. But still.

When the movie ended, they sat in silence for a few minutes before Bellamy seemed unable to take the tension. “Clarke, about what Callie said…I don’t want you to feel weird or anything.”

Clarke turned towards him with a sigh of resignation. “You’re fine. It’s not like it was your fault.” She thought about grabbing his hand and decided against it. “I’m sorry she….”

“Don’t be,” he replied. Their knees were brushing.

“Well, I am, so deal with it.” She caught his eye and smiled at him, and for a moment he smiled back, then it dissolved into a hard swallow.

“It wasn’t the worst thing, you know,” he began, slow and unsure, “to be called Callie’s dad.”

Clarke’s heart effectively leaped into her throat. All she could manage was, “Oh?”

“Because she’s such a good kid, I mean,” Bellamy rushed to say. “If she thinks of me that way, I can’t be doing too badly, right?”

“Right,” Clarke agreed, but her head was buzzing too much to say anything else. She wanted to hold his hands so _badly._ “What do we tell her?”

Bellamy thought for a moment, running his hand through his hair. “Nothing. She’s a kid; she’ll figure it out.”

His resigned tone caught Clarke off guard. “Bellamy, you have to know, I don’t want this to…change anything,” she said. _Liar._ “I mean, I don’t want you to feel like you have to act any differently.”

Bellamy nodded tightly. “It’s okay. Callie just…misinterpreted our relationship.”

The Raven-voice in Clarke’s head started screaming at her. _I swear, if you don’t do something now when he left a perfect opening right there, I will limp all the way over there and—_ “What is our relationship?”

Bellamy’s lips parted in shock, and it took everything in Clarke not to break eye contact. “Well—you’re my best friend,” he stammered at last. And I don’t want to endanger our relationship, even if….” He cut off, looking sharply at her and away; his jaw was clenched, the veins in his neck bulging.

Clarke’s heart thumped fiercely in her chest. Bellamy didn’t just look nervous; he looked _terrified,_ as if the next words she spoke could break him. She should've told him sooner. “Bellamy,” she said urgently, feeling her voice shake with a terror of her own. “Even if what?”

He wouldn’t look at her. “It doesn’t matter. I just want to make sure—”

Before he could continue and say some stupid thing about how he didn’t deserve love or he just wanted her to be happy (as if that could happen without him), Clarke grabbed his hands. His gaze jerked to hers, surprised; she gripped his shaking fingers tighter. “ _Bellamy._ I—” But suddenly everything she wanted to say, all the speeches she’d been carrying around for months, dissolved at the tip of her tongue, and all she could do was _look_ at him. The galaxy of freckles spanning his face. The scar above his lip, in almost the same spot as her own mark. The subtle shades in his eyes, spiraling into depths she could get lost in forever.

_I love you,_ she thought, but she was too afraid to say it. She had to do _something,_ though, so she held his hands up to her face and pressed her lips to them.

Bellamy’s fingers tightened under hers immediately; his skin was warm. She dropped their hands into his lap, but did not look up, even when she felt Bellamy move so close his breath fanned across her face when he spoke. “Clarke….”

It was the way he said it, that reassured her most; like he was terrified but didn’t care, like he was prepared to die any moment if it meant whispering her name one more time. She lifted her head and their foreheads met, eyes closing.

“There’s no one I would want it to be but you,” she murmured with a shaky voice. He was so near, and their noses were brushing; she couldn’t think. “I—I need you. Not just for Callie. I need—”

He pressed his lips to hers.

Clarke quickly disentangled her hands from Bellamy’s so she could wrap them around his neck, sifting his curls through her fingers. He steadied her face with a hand and gripped her waist with the other and it was so soft, so gentle, so insistent, she thought she would melt.

“I love you,” she said between kisses, the words finally bursting through her rib cage with their intensity.

“I love you, too, Clarke,” Bellamy murmured, tucking back a piece of her hair and looking at her like there was nothing else.

An ache grew in Clarke’s chest, so warm and large she didn’t know how her body could manage it. He loved her. He _loved_ her.

And somehow, impossibly, she’d already known.

–

“Clarke, are you done with it yet?” Bellamy whined from across the room. “It’s been forever.”

“Patience, young one,” she replied as she finished her final touches on the pumpkin. “Shouldn’t you be busy over there anyway?”

“First of all, you can’t call the person three years your elder ‘young one,’” Bellamy pointed out. “And second of all, Callie won’t do anything fun. She just wants to drive fake trucks into each other.”

“Such is the life of a father,” she called back, grinning. Then she looked over her work and breathed out slowly, steeling herself. “Okay, done. Come…come see.”

Bellamy was over in moments, and Clarke tried hard not to let her hands shake as she spun the pumpkin around so he could see the design. He looked it over, then glanced at her, then back again, looking on the verge of a thousand questions.

“You keep telling me there’s not enough Callie for both of us,” Clarke said slowly. _Breathe, Griffin, breathe._ “Maybe this will settle the score.”

He moved forward slowly, still unspeaking, fingers slightly outstretched. Knowing what he wanted, Clarke took his hand and placed it carefully on her stomach; she could feel the coolness of his ring through her shirt.

“I promise I wasn’t hiding it from you,” she said when he had stared at her midsection for almost a minute and still had said nothing. “I just found out yesterday, and I wanted how I told you to be exciting, so….” She gestured vaguely to the pumpkin.

“Any way you told me would’ve been exciting,” Bellamy murmured, resting his lips on her hair. “Clarke.... We’re having a baby. Our own baby.”

“Our second,” Clarke corrected, and after kissing her profusely, Bellamy agreed.

**Author's Note:**

> bonus points if you noted princess bride
> 
> @sherlockvowsontheriverstyx on tumblr <3


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